


Of Bats and Clowns

by badomens



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Angst, Batjokes, Blood, Drug Use, M/M, Mild Gore, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badomens/pseuds/badomens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I’ve murdered half the town</em><br/><em>left you love notes on their headstones</em><br/><em>I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you</em><br/>[[The Joker has finally discovered the Batman's secret identity, chaos ensues. All porn, all angst, no plot.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i am a pretty piece of flesh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down for battyboi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> batjoke is a way of life and I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP
> 
> my headcanon here is that bruce is bi, but hasn’t really experimented with guys a lot, and joker will shag anything that moves. im SORRY I work on this so slowly. I pick at it every now and then. check back in a year, I might have written more.

 

The Joker was used to driving shitty cars, how ironic it was that family cars were better for carrying multiple barrels of liquid explosives. He sat in the Chevrolet express he’d just stolen, jitterier than usual, with baited breath _._ At any moment, _Bruce Wayne_ would walk out of the building he was parked outside, climb into his sports car, and drive to his reservation at an uptown restaurant. It was one of those fancy places only the rich and famous could afford, Joker had read the reviews, he was sure it was going to be positively _smashing_. Only if Batsy didn’t play by the rules, though.

It had taken so much work to get there, chasing shadows, ears to the ground for any hint of a rumour. Batman had hidden his real identity extremely well, but there were only so many men in Gotham with friends in high places and enough money for millions of dollars worth of customized military-grade equipment. He’d amassed a collection of newspaper clippings of Wayne’s face with the top of the head scribbled out. Fair to say it was his condo’s new wallpaper. It was as obvious as a smack in the face when the Joker had finally found him, Bruce Wayne, ‘Billionaire Playboy’, _Batman_. And he was about to meet him, and find out just how much his secret identity meant to him. Joker pictured the look on the Bats face when his good ol’ pal turned up to his little date. He chuckled.

The Joker had spent so many years causing senseless mayhem in Gotham, in and out of jail, a bountiful but boring sex life. Blowing valuable things up, ransoms, sharp knives, it’d gotten a little tedious. He’d always known his affections and trinkets were wasted on those people. All until the day he’d met The _Batman_. His life had swung out of perspective, reversed polarity, shifted around a new axis that was that deep-voiced hunk of a "hero". He'd wanted him from the first moment the caped mass had stared steely eyed through the Joker’s bars in Arkham, as if he felt pity for him. Immovable, even when the joker had giggled and reached through to grab him. He’d questioned him oh-so valiantly, raging infernos of fury held back behind that mask, just waiting to bubble over. After that, the silly kevlar ears were in the Jokers every thought, Batman kept him awake at night, gave him a new purpose. And above it all, the man behind the mask, was the Jokers holy grail. His thugs and henchmen had noticed his new obsession, wary of the new glint in his eye. The joker was going mad all over again, completely nuts, gloriously and helplessly _batty_ for The Batman.

Just on cue, a tall dark haired man stepped out of the glass doors of the hotel, dressed in a sharp grey suit. When the man got in his car and pulled away, Joker followed. He was ever so slightly amused when halfway to the restaurant the Lamborghini had taken a turn into a dark side street. Damn, he’d thought, foiled already, what a shame. Not that it mattered, but Joker was looking forward to interrupting Batsy’s expensive night out. He drew the knife concealed in his pocket, ready to get out and meet Bruce Wayne face to face, but the car didn’t show any sign of slowing down. Joker followed him quietly a few more blocks, until Bruce stopped ten minutes later and parked outside a dusty boarded up Laundr-o-mat. Bruce got out the car, now without a jacket and looking decidedly less smart with a few buttons undone. They’d taken the longest, most unnatural route to get there, the kind of thing you do when you do when you don’t want to be followed. Wherever it was, Bruce didn’t want anyone knowing at all. He looked around cautiously and disappeared into another side street. Joker straightened his coat and followed, fascinated.

It was only a few moments later the second Joker saw where Bruce was heading, and his face lit up like a kid on its birthday. ‘LIVE MEN – XXX – ADULT’ the sign read in glowing pink letters. ‘BoysBoysBoys Bar & Cabaret’ under that. He stifled a hysterically delighted laugh as Bruce walked in. Joker stopped for a moment, thinking, and then crept around the back. A brilliant new idea was forming already and he called one of his men to tell the guys to go home, the plan was cancelled. He couldn’t have planned _this_ is he’d tried.

It was easy enough for the joker to sneak into the back of the club, quietly knock out a few surprised strippers and peek out of the curtain behind the stage. The place seemed pretty empty apart from a bartender behind the bar and a lone man sat on one of the plush couches facing the stage, swirling his drink and looking less than comfortable. Bingo. Joker wondered what on earth had inspired him to come to this dingy little place, it was possible he came here regularly. Strange, considering Bruce Wayne seemed to have women constantly adorning his arms. Either way, it stirred something primal inside of him to see the Batman in such a seedy place, the idea of corrupting the ‘Dark Knight’ gave him an intense rush.

Joker retraced his steps to the dressing room and dropped his coat, a few knives and a potato peeler falling out of his coat clanging on the floor. He stripped the rest of his clothes, and found something to wear he was _sure_ was going to spark an interest. Taking one last look in the mirror, he peered at himself. Undyed hair and shadowy eyes from lack of sleep stared back, but no face paint, so different to his usual attire for meeting the Batman. Jokers hair had grown out quite a bit, he’d been so busy finding out the Bats real identity that he hadn’t actually seen him in a while. In fact, he hadn’t met Bruce Wayne face to face yet, this would be the first time seeing him in the flesh, and he wanted it to be _very_ special. His blood raced at the thought of finally seeing him close. He smiled at the reflection, feeling a little dizzy with anticipation.

Bruce had gone in and sat down in one of the many empty seats, only after ordering a large scotch. He knocked it back quickly, trying to quell the jitters he had. Why could he, _the Batman_ , who fought criminals on a daily basis, not go to a strip club without being a nervous wreck? This was a bad idea, but the thought of coming to a gay strip club had just excited him so much. Girls got boring after they started pouncing on him at any given chance. No, he wanted something, different. Being gay was taboo in the world of being a billionaire industrialist and notorious playboy. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flash of light. He jumped, but it was just a spotlight moving to the stage. There was a second of quietness as the song changed, and then the curtains parted. Bruce held his breath as a man walked out. He had a nice body and curly blonde hair bubbled over his forehead, hiding his eyes, but Bruce could make out a sultry smile beneath it. The stripper walked to the centre of the stage leisurely and for a second Bruce thought he was walking towards him, his heart doing a little jolt- but the man stopped at the pole, catching it in one hand and swinging round casually until he was faced away from the audience. Bruce let the shaky breath out and took a moment to enjoy his body. His gaze wandered down, the slow bassy music pounding in his ears. The man was muscled but lithe, quite graceful. Bruce eyed the skimpy underwear, feeling a touch indecent for a moment, but he reminded himself it was just a stripper. They wore it to turn guys on, no different to a female stripper. A prickle of excited heat rose in his stomach, he’d watched strippers many times before, but he’d never felt like _this_.

The stripper tilted his head back against the pole before sinking down against it, opening his mouth lewdly before letting the audience glimpse his grin and turning away again. It was as that moment Bruce realised he _was_ the audience, the entire audience; there were no other spectators around him. And the fact that just watching a stripper grind against a pole was rising a small tent in his pants told him that this was all a very _, very_ bad idea. Bruce didn’t know what he'd expected, but something was different, it felt intimate, he wondered if he’d have to pay more for this private show.

He almost rose out of his seat but the man on the stage had swung round the pole again, all fluid movements and long limbs, and was leaning forward tantalisingly against the pole. Bruce thanked the merciful lord for those bottomless underwear and supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if he stayed a little longer. He was hypnotised.

The Joker supposed this was the moment. He swallowed and looked over his shoulder just as he bent forward, drinking in the sight of Bruce Wayne. It was everything he’d hoped it’d be and more. The man was strikingly handsome, dark hair and a tempting mouth. Unmistakably, Batman’s mouth. The mouth that he’d spent nights dreaming of. He breathed in deeply as he rose, letting a huge grin spread across his features and tipping his head into the light, revealing his scarred cheeks to the one-man audience.

Time seemed to stand still for Bruce Wayne. It was one of those strange moments in life where someone who should definitely remain anonymous, becomes very, _extraordinarily_ familiar.

Joker?

Joker.

Bruce’s heart stopped. He seemed to be pinned to the spot.

The second warning came as the man stepped off the stage; it was the scars all across his body, some faded, some new, and the two on his _face_ , in the shape of a ghastly smile.

  
"J-Joker?" Bruce stuttered and fumbled over his words, now seemingly unable to look the man in the eyes. "Uuhh. This- Um.."

The Joker inched closer, hands resting gently on the chair either side of Bruce, he could feel the warmth from him radiating through the already stifling air. He shifted, mind racing, unstoppable. What on earth was the _Joker_ doing in this place? No, this obviously wasn’t a coincidence, although he hadn’t been bothered by him for quite a while. Was this what the madman was planning all this time he hadn’t been terrorising the public? But it didn’t make sense, Bruce could clearly see there were no hidden weapons on him, just skin and- oh _jesus christ_ the Joker was sat in his lap now, straddling him. If there was any way Bruce could have imagined this brief experiment to backfire, it would never be this.

"Evening, _Batsss_." Joker placed his hands neatly on the chair just above Bruce’s shoulders, peered up through his eyelashes at him and leant into the crook of his neck. "Fancy seeing you here." He smiled and turned, brushing Bruce's flushed cheek with his nose, barely audible over the music.

Bruce's thoughts were white noise. Whatever was happening, he was pretty sure it was a nightmare, or a really, really fucked up dream. Master criminals aside, he was extremely hard and not entirely sure that it was in any way appropriate. "Uhh.. Joker." He took a short breath and craned his neck so that he could look him in the face, then immediately regretted it as he was now face to face with the practically naked man sat on his knees. If someone was watching right now, Bruce wouldn’t have noticed. "What are you doing?"

"Why, Bats. Cant a man have a hobby?" Joker giggled sickeningly. Bruce winced. The joker should have smelled like something disgusting, should have been caked in garish makeup with greasy green hair, but he wasn’t. The scars were still there, but he could have been a different man, with soft blonde hair and smelling faintly of vintage cologne. Bruce cursed under his breath.

"I know what you're thinking, Brucie. Can I call you that?" Joker sat back, not even noticing the tent Bruce was pitching. "Where have you been? Why haven’t you killed anyone? I’ve missed you so much." He imitated Batman’s gruff voice, smirking.

"How did you-" Bruce interrupted, then was cut off by Jokers finger pressed to his lips.

"Hush now. You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you? Ohh, no Batss. _Quite_ the opposite. It’s just taken a while to- find.. you." Joker motioned vaguely in Bruce’s direction. "And now we can finally have some _fffun_."

"And you’re going to use this as leverage aren’t you?" Bruce allowed himself to think a little more clearly. "Now you know who I am."

Joker dissolved into laughter at that. "Ooh- ahahah.. Batsy, no, no, no! What would I do without you?" He leant in close, and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to move away. "You _complete_ me."

There was a short silence as Bruce processed the situation. "So you’re-"

"-Not here to kill you, no."

" _Oh_." Every single one of Bruce’s instincts told him not to trust this madman. He'd proven time and time again to be corrupt, and completely and utterly crazy. But something primal and dangerous inside him made Bruce unclench his fist beside him and ghost a touch up the Jokers side. It was warm, and at the touch the Joker shifted closer in his lap, rubbing shamelessly against Bruce, making his breathing waver.

But of course, to even entertain that idea would be lunacy. An unexpected anger struck him. He was enjoying this way too much. He couldn’t let himself be tricked by this clown. The Joker had killed mercilessly, threatened people he loved. He was a psychopath that preferred to carve people up with knives so he could see the look on their faces as they died. Bruce jolted his hand back and looked away. It hadn’t changed the fact he was stuck in a very compromising position.

“What’s wrong Bats? Something got you down?” The Joker looked at exactly the wrong moment, just before Bruce could cover the mountain in his trousers.  
“Orrr, maybe not?”

Shit shit shit. Joker giggled again, his hands moving between Bruce's legs and gently pressing. Bruce bit back a filthy noise before deciding he'd allowed the madman's plot to go way too far. He pushed the Joker off his lap roughly and he landed on the floor with an audible thump. Bruce didn’t stop to look as he stormed out of the bar.


	2. a smoke raised with the fume of sighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naughty dreams and opportune dinner suits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for the delay on this chapter, forgive me plz :v 
> 
> you have no idea how painful it is as a british person to write the word elevator instead of lift, but sadly it just doesn’t have the same impact. also i made a mix of my fave batjokes songs that i listen to as i write, listen here ->  
> http://8tracks.com/badomens/you-complete-me

It was dark. Thin orange light streamed into the room through the shutters. Playing cards scattered the floor. A dirty-blonde haired man squirmed in Bruce’s sheets. He was all long limbs and arched back, lightly freckled skin peppered with gossamer white scars. He was the sound of a mattress squeaking and breathy moans. He was chance and risk, a thorn in Bruce’s side. Bruce reached out for a deep purple bruise blossoming in the shape of his own teeth-

“Is something the matter Master Wayne?”

“Huh?” Bruce blinked blearily. He seemed to be doused in cold sweat and sporting a rather large hard-on. He quickly sat up and bunched the covers to hide it.

“You were mumbling sir.. I thought I’d-“

“Yes. Thanks Alfred. You can er- Go now.”

“Right. I’ll make you some breakfast.” His valet turned and walked out of the room, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, wishing that he’d just had one of the typical nightmares about the well and his parents. It would have been better than- Well, it was time for a cold shower, that was certain. He rubbed his eyes wearily with the heel of his palm.

The next few days were all the same; uneventful, and made worse with the lingering thought of the Joker. It niggled at Bruce’s mind, the image of _him_ , curly hair and pale thighs or something else even more immodest appearing every time he closed his eyes. It was just that now that he’d had a taste of a life that wasn’t his, he wanted it even _more_. Batman stood for justice, righteousness, what had happened a few days prior, was that... Fraternising with the enemy? Bruce didn’t know if he was mixing up lust and the desire for something more than the life he currently had. Was it possible to project the idea of rebellion onto a single person? The psychopath that was the _Joker_ was just a complete unadulterated mystery. Bruce couldn’t work out what made him tick, he left no trail, no paperwork.  Most criminals wanted money, he didn’t even know what the Joker strived for. Possibly pure chaos, or maybe something else. But upon closer inspection, of which Bruce had had many an opportunity, there was a glint in the man’s eye that betrayed the brilliance within. How else could he have slipped through the fingers of some of the best detectives the world had to offer? Wherever he wanted to be: he was. A fact that both enraged and intrigued Bruce at the same time. Funny how you always want the things you can’t have.

It was almost five days later when Alfred noticed something was bothering Bruce. He hid a sad smile as elevator door pinged and the view of the man sat in a lone chair, dressed fully in his bat suit, came slowly into view.

“You know, just putting the suit on doesn’t help the war on crime.”

Bruce looked up. “Oh, Alfred.”

“I’ve known you for twenty seven years, that’s long enough to know that this sudden slump isn’t just some passing worry.”

Bruce averted his eyes again to the pen he was fiddling with.

“Sir, if it’s appropriate for me to say- Whatever is on your mind, dressing up and moping around in the basement is no way to deal with it. If you continue to avoid it, it’s not going to go away.”

“And how do you suggest I deal with-“

As is usual in the most inopportune moments, the phone rang out from across the room. Bruce stopped mid-sentence to pick it up. It was Lucius, asking where he’d been, as it was unusual for Bruce to disappear for more than a few days at a time without at least notifying his business manager.

“It’s nothing to worry about Lucius. Just doing some... Administration... and training. Yeah, training.”

“Well, don’t go training for too long, there’s always something for Batman to be doing. Crime never sleeps.”

“Yeah. Uh, well thanks for calling, I’ll speak to you later.” Bruce knew he sounded preoccupied, but he didn’t care enough right now. The phone call had given him an idea, but he was aware Alfred was still silently watching him from the doorway.

“Alfred, could you-“

“Of course. I apologise sir, but I can’t help but be worried about you. I’ll bring you some food down in an ten minutes or so. You can’t have eaten much, unless you’ve taken up a new diet of paperclips and pencils.”

Bruce began to ask Alfred not to, as he needed some time alone, but he’d already left the room. Muttering to himself, Bruce picked the phone back up, and checking it was on anonymous mode first, dialled the desk number of James Gordon. Gotham City Police Department had given him a list of important numbers months ago, Bruce had just stuffed it under the phone with other unimportant scraps of paper. He’d had never rang this number before, he wondered if the commissioner would pick up.

“Hello, Gotham City Major Crimes Unit, James Gordon speaking.”

“Jim?”

“..Batman? Is that you?”

Bruce didn’t respond. He suddenly felt very silly. Usually he’d meet Jim on the top of the GCPD building, but today called for nothing more than research. If he could, he would have used a phone box somewhere, but that wouldn’t grant him the access to this kind of information.

Jim continued, “Well, my computer seems to know it’s you. No idea how, all this fancy technology these days.. Never used to be like this. You know I haven’t seen you on the street lately, not a lot going on in Major Crimes either. Spiced up my Tuesday morning you have.” Jim forced an awkward laugh.

“Commissioner, I need some information.”

“Oh, sure.”

“What files do you have on the Joker?”

“The Joker? Damn, you could have asked for anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce gripped the phone a little too hard.

“Just that- Well, we don’t exactly _have_ many files on him. He’s a ghost. Never leaves a trail, no documents, in fact- We don’t actually know who he is. Extensive history in and out of Arkham, he’s only ever in there when he wants to be. Hasn’t shown up on the radar recently though, just a long list of past felonies, which I’m sure you know about already.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“One last thing-“ Jim stammered after a pause, “I’m almost one hundred percent sure you have the ability to hack this system. Why not just find the information yourself?”

Bruce hesitated, then put the phone down with a slam. He exhaled loudly. He had no excuse to be chasing a mad clown, for all that most people cared, Joker could have been 3 feet deep in the ground. It was usually that way when criminals suddenly stopped misbehaving, and it wasn’t in any detectives best interest to go digging. Bruce couldn’t do this without attracting more attention to himself. He’d have to find the Joker alone.

This just left Bruce more frustrated that he was to begin with. Where do you find someone that no-one has ever purposefully found before? His thoughts were interrupted by Alfred entering the room with a tray of something steaming, and a newly laundered suit over his arm.

“Your dinner suit, and minestrone soup.” His butler left the suit on a table and the soup on the desk in front of him. “Good day sir.”

With that Alfred left the room, and Bruce absentmindedly stood up to hang his suit on a coat hook. A moment later a glint of white caught his eye, and Bruce stared as a playing card fell from the suit, and flitted to the floor. On it, in small tangled letters beside the symbol of a joker, was written an address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just have this image of bruce sat in his batsuit hunched over a desk hurriedly sipping soup so he wont upset alfred ヽ(;•̤̀∇•̤́ヽ)


	3. when the baggage just ain't as heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reality looks like a fever dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: DRUGS***
> 
> Holy ballsack it’s been so long since I updated. I’ve had the next few chapters written for a long time. Sadly, fic has just been on the backburner. Yea bitch the chapter title came from a drake song, whatchu gonna do

Batman drove straight to the address in a daze of trepidation. It was in a seedy looking suburb on the outskirts of the city, not too intimidating at 3pm, but probably less than safe at night. He didn't know what he was expecting, a gloomy mansion or somewhere decrepit and horrible. Either way he didn’t expect this relatively modest apartment building. He entered, and realized stupidly that written on the card there was only the address for the building, no door number. Inside the musty lobby, a rotund middle aged man was the first person he met, sat behind the lobby desk watching TV and smoking a fat cigar.

“Ahem.” Bruce cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

“Yes?” The man spoke with a thick, tired Italian accent, clearly not enjoying having his programme interrupted. “Who you looking for?”

Bruce hesitated, promptly realising he was not prepared in the slightest. What if this was a trap, that he’d walked blindly into. He hadn’t even stopped to consider the idea that this might all be another of the Joker’s creative plans to kill him. Bruce began thinking about turning back. Coming here on a stupid whim, with no armour and no weapons, was possibly the stupidest thing he'd done in a long time.

“Carl? Carl does babysitting, you lookin’ for a babysitter?”

“Umm-“ Carl was a common name, Could that have been the Jokers real name?

The man interrupted him, getting impatient. “Mr. Pavlov?”

“Uh-“ 

“Oldest man here.”

“Then no-“

“Miss Ainsworth?"

“Hah, no-“

“Siggy?”

“Um, who?”

“Mr. Kerr, top floor?”

Bruce paused, and the stout man raised his eyebrows.

"Lift is broke, stairs are there." The man pointed with his cigar and then promptly put it back between his teeth and resumed watching television.

After at least ten minutes of navigating labyrinthine staircases that seemed to have been affected by renovations and sometimes leading to nothing, Bruce found the last door. It had no markings, only peeling mustard coloured paint. He swallowed, and knocked. With the impact, the door swung open, cliché like a horror movie.

Inside was a pleasant surprise, a tug of cool air and a roomy loft greeted him. One large rectangular room with large windows which were open, allowing long, white, slightly tattered curtains to billow in the breeze. Everything in the room seemed like it was of another era, not cheap looking, rather colourful but all generously worn. A rusty kettle settled amongst other clutter on a counter top spanning along one wall, a small dining table for one, a (probably once regal) pinstriped purple armchair, even a gramophone on a side table. A rack of kitchen knives, half of which were missing. Most notably, an antique looking desk scattered with papers, various unusual devices and a revolver, newspaper clippings pinned up on the wall around it. He took another few timid steps and realised they were all of him, without his mask. A black, bat-eared cowl was crudely scribbled over each face. As he peered at the strange collection, heart beating faster than ever, the sound of a bed spring made him turn.

Bruce saw a pair of bare feet dangling from a bed in the corner he previously hadn't noticed. As the wind blew the curtain in the other direction, it revealed the Joker himself. He was sat on the edge of his mattress, looking charmingly young in just a pair of brown trousers and surrounded by a cloud of white smoke. A cigarette hung limply from his lips, and he stared past Bruce into nothingness. Bruce's insides seemed to drop without warning. The Joker's arms, littered with red track marks, rested limply on his knees. A spoon, lighter, needle and other instruments lay around him.

The Jokers hooded eyes flicked to look at Bruce. He spoke lazily, in his unforgettable breathy timbre, voice heavy with whatever was pumping it's way through his veins. "Ah, Batman." He looked away again, back into his trance like state, completely unfazed by the presence of the man he'd been stalking incessantly for months. "Good afternoon." Joker's cigarette bounced as he talked.

Bruces heart was hammering in his chest, fists clenched so hard his fingernails threatened to break into his skin. "J-joker."

"Mm?" Joker murmured in reply.

Bruce’s thoughts didn't seem to be working. "What did you take?"

There was a pause as the Joker exhaled. "Oh you know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Sugar and spice and all things nice." Joker smiled up at him absently, seemingly unaware he wasn't dreaming.

Bruce lunged toward him, kneeling and grabbing the jokers shoulders, his knees cracking against the wooden floor. He didn't notice. "What did you take?!"

"Heroin! Heroin, Bats. I'm okay. I wasn't expecting you to come."

His voice was dulcet, with the rough edge of a smoker, different to his usual sarcastic drawl. Bruce stared into the jokers deep russet eyes, searching for something, unaware his hand was moving to rest gently on the Joker's knee. Slowly, the Joker blinked as his chocolate orbs met the dark grey of Bruce's.

"Please, call me Joseph."

Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce was taking the cigarette from the Jokers lips and crushing their faces in a deep, desperate kiss. Joker responded immediately, raising a shy hand to cup Bruce's face, and opening his mouth for Bruce to explore. Bruce felt as if he could be there forever, in that insatiable kiss. The other man's skin was beautifully warm and dewy with a light sheen of sweat. His lips were soft, lightly chapped, tasting of smoke and something jarringly vintage that Bruce thought could only ever be found in that insane, quick witted mouth of his.

As reality set in for Bruce, the kiss waned, but the Joker pursued his lips, cheeks flushed. Bruce had to pull away, for fear or starting and never stopping. "Joker-" He breathed. "Stop."

Joker exhaled, condensation from his breath illuminated in the chilly afternoon light. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's gotten into you Bats? I thought you despised little old me."

"And I thought you were crazy naturally, are you just always on drugs?"

"Ha ha ha. No. They just kill the.. _voices_ for a while."

Bruce sighed, and followed the Jokers mellow gaze out of the window.

They sat for a moment and watched some birds fly past, Joker was the first to speak. "You.. You know I was infatuated with you- since the day we first met."

Bruce looked back at the Joker, or.. Joseph. Joseph Kerr. Joker. It made sense. In fact, it was rather funny. This whole thing was just absurd. But Bruce wasn't in a laughing mood. He lowered his head. "Bank robberies, murders, it's a funny way of showing love."

"What else was I supposed to do, ring you up? Ring ring- Hello, Batman?"

Bruce peered up to find Joker pulling a goofy face and doing a comical telephone charade.

"Fancy dinner tonight Batman darling? A movie? Wanna come for a ride in my new carrrrr?"

"I suppose not." Bruce smiled. "You know, the face paint really never helped your case."

"Hm, I thought you'd be frightened off by these" Joker pointed to the raised scars on either side of his mouth.

Bruce traced a finger along one lightly. The slightly surprised owl-eyed look the man gave in response reminded Bruce just how much he'd give to _fuck him into oblivion_.

"Joseph." Bruce tested it. The name was liquid smooth in his mouth, it didn't seem right for the criminal, thief, crook, sat before him. But then he imagined himself in his pajamas, eating breakfast in the Wayne Manor. In a twisted kind of way, they were similar. Like little kids, putting on their costume and going to play pretend.

"Yes?" The jokers voice was hardly audible.

"Will you remember this tomorrow?"

"I'll try."


	4. you’re not like the others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Let’s explore Bruce’s psyche just a little bit. I’m feeling sentimental.

Tomorrow came and went. And another day, and another. Soon weeks had passed. Batman could not bring himself to go back to Joker’s apartment, yet he still scoured Gotham PD radios intensely for a mention of that neighborhood, perhaps looking for a reason to just be close to Joseph Kerr. Seeing him in such a vulnerable place seemed like a faraway dream, one that Bruce almost didn’t want to touch for fear of shattering it. But it controlled his thoughts like never before, the thought of the Joker without his grimy makeup, just soft skin and corduroy, spine like small dunes under the skin of his back. Bruce wanted to be that close again, close enough to see the callouses on his fingers, close enough to taste his pyrope lips. Knowing what he was capable of drove Bruce insane. The Joker was a challenge and an enigma that Bruce was now hell bent on unraveling.

Bruce kept himself occupied as best as he could, but every thug he accosted turned out to be another unintelligible jackass without a shred of finesse. Months ago, he would have been satisfied with bringing these criminals to justice, his drive fuelled by some familiar concoction of revenge and pride. But these days, something poisonous had gotten into his bloodstream. Or maybe, left it. His head felt clear now, irreversibly so. This presented an unwelcome change in Bruce’s spirit. He had begun to understand the Joker’s motives, or lack thereof. He knew now that Kerr had a desire to just play with the world, and his most treasured toy was Batman. That wasn't love. It was something ugly and frightening, and many innocent people had died in the chase.

Bruce couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that all of this was above him. Above both of them. That this was not about two men. It was about Batman, an unstoppable vigilante, and the Joker, an unstoppable villain. But when all was said and done, they were merely mortals under two elaborate masks.


	5. when the chips are down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ever been like this when you’re drunk and sad?

It was a drizzling, bitterly cold Tuesday night in downtown Gotham. Hundreds of shadowed people and couples passed by the car, illuminated for a second by a dingy street light as they walked, before Bruce found the nerve to join them. He got out of his car and teetered dangerously, having forgotten that he was drunk, and roughly pulled his collar up around his face. The next step was to begin walking down the street as fast as the swaying world would let him, but instead he lurched forward and smashed face first into a lamp post. A pretty woman with blonde hair stepped forward to help him.

“Dude, are you okay?” She seemed concerned.

Bruce immediately forgot about his bust nose and flashed her what he _thought_ was his winning smile. “Mmmmmyes. I’m jus lookin for Joke- ..Joseph Kerr?”

The woman must have known he had been drinking. She smiled in that pathetic, concerned way you smile at cancer patients. How had she known? He was so good at pretending to be sober. Now, to just stand up straight. He was nearly there- whoops. Bruce toppled to the ground, hiccuping. Now the woman’s boyfriend had joined her. They looked down at him like he was a piece of shit on their shoes, lying in the middle of a street in the seedy red light district, drunk out of his mind.

“Come on,” The man muttered. “Let’s go. Fucking waste of time.” The woman’s platinum blonde hair swished as she turned, heels clicking, away from him. Shame. He was going to let her suck him off.

Bruce yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’m fucking _BRUCE WAYNE_ ! Come _back_ here you fucking _BITCH_ !” His heart wasn’t in it. Didn’t they know he was famous, and great looking, and rich, and... fucking _Bruce Wayne_?!

Bruce’s phone began to ring. It was Lucius. Not now Lucius, not now. Haaaang up. Bruce clumsily pawed at his phone, hardly paying attention. He had important.. business. Must. Find.. What was that bastard’s name again? Joker.

People kept looking at Bruce. What were they looking at?! Had to .. Had to- Get up. Lock car. Remember to lock the car Bruce. He pressed the lock button on his Maserati’s key fob and dragged himself up, brushing dirt off his jacket. He was swaying like a puppet on a string, but with focus he managed to walk away from his car and stumble for a few blocks. Perhaps it was subconscious, but probably not- He had ended up on the street with the gay club on it- the place he had been confronted by the Joker- no. No, Bruce, don’t go in there, he won’t be there- Just-

 

A dirty blonde haired man stepped out in front of him. Bruce’s heart vaulted into his throat and he rubbed his eyes. When the face in front of him had unblurred itself, Bruce felt a drop in his stomach as he realised it wasn’t Joker.

The prostitute spoke with a vaguely european accent and a charmless smile. “Want a good time Sir? I’ll suck your cock for ten dollars.”

Bruce stared at this man’s face. It was hard to make out his features in the dim light, but he looked worn, prematurely aged. Oddly attractive, but tired. Bruce considered the proposition hazily. Mm yeah, that’d just be great. Bruce needed a good fuck so badly, and it had been a long time since-

“Are you Bruce Wayne?” the prostitute asked with sudden confusion.

Bruce immediately swung around and began staggering away, red faced with embarrassment. He was noticing now the numerous men around him, dressed in skimpy clothes, leering at him from the shadows. Each face seemed to morph into something terrifying, like sinister gargoyles attached to alleys and doorways. Perhaps the Joker’s gnarling clown face, no, perhaps just the drawn, moth eaten faces of the people that occupied these street corners in the _darkest_ cavities of Gotham.

 

Bruce didn’t remember getting home that night. Just that somehow he made it back to his penthouse blind drunk, stinking of whiskey. Alfred didn’t intervene. The butler seemed to be withdrawing from Bruce the past few weeks. Perhaps exhausted from weeks of his master doing this every time he had a drink. That and the occasional times Bruce had blown up at him, saying some things he’d regretted deeply.  Alfred didn’t even know what the thing _was_ that had been plaguing Bruce’s mind. Perhaps he thought Bruce was finally being driven mad by his own alter ego, _the Batman_. Bruce wondered if he should care more that Alfred was distant, that he’d probably hurt him.

 

\--

 

The next morning Bruce’s face stared back at him from the front page of the Gotham Times. Someone must have taken a picture of him the night before when he'd fallen over. Not that he remembered.

“BILLIONAIRE IN THE GUTTER”

  
Bruce cringed, reading the headline. Alfred, who had brought him the paper and some toast, turned and walked out of the room. Bruce watched him go, knowing after all these years that a lack of a ‘Good Morning Sir’ could only mean something terrible. He sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how this chapter reads, it feels a little disjointed. I’ll probably drastically change it in a week. I’ve been making little changes to unify the whole fic each time I update it. I hope you’re enjoying it so far. I have a lot more drafted out just not finalized. They will see each other again soon I promise.


	6. there will be no tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light porno and very light gore so be warned

Bruce was tearing himself up, forcing himself to keep donning to suit, to keep fighting. He was plagued with thoughts of jealousy, imaging in the weeks since they’d seen each other Joker might have slept with someone. Was he still working at the club, still at home shooting up? Wherever he was, Bruce knew it was too dangerous to go looking too deeply. Bruce didn’t know he could be this possessive, he never expected there to be something in the world he couldn’t just buy or take by force. If he let himself be vulnerable to the Joker again he could easily undo a lifetime of work.

 

He stood tall, overlooking the city from the top of Wayne Tower. It was a breezy but mild night. A few months ago, Bruce might have enjoyed a night like tonight, felt relaxed even. But tonight he felt frustrated at Gotham’s vastness, at his own lack of power. The radio in his pocket crackled, it was just another broadcast from Gotham P.D. They were still blissfully unaware that he was monitoring their frequency, but it was also possible that they knew and did nothing about it. He turned his radio off, and his attention wandered as he watched the people below.

 

Bruce closed his eyes. There was only one thing that could possibly make him feel better, or even feel anything at all. Before he could let himself think too hard about it he had climbed in his car and driven back to the Joker’s apartment on the outskirts of Gotham. Bruce’s heart hammered in his chest as he stormed past the shouting receptionist and up the stairs. Something didn't feel right, but Bruce ignored it. Even when he saw small bloodied fingerprints on the wall. When he arrived at the top of the stairs Bruce’s stomach dropped. The Joker’s front door was wide open, his vintage furniture scattered across the room, a mug lay broken on the floor and a pool of coffee stained the faded purple mat. The place had been ransacked, everything upturned and emptied. As Bruce inched toward the scene, breath baited, all rational thoughts removed, the smear of recently dried blood near the coffee stain came into view. Bruce’s mind went into overdrive. He turned his radio on with a shaky hand.

 

“ _Ksshht_ .. being held by a gang at an empty business complex in West Chelsea Hill. Address: two seven five Seab Street, West Chelsea Hill.. _Ksshht_ .. All four officers down.. _kssshht_.. Assailants..  _Kssssssssht_....  Joker…..” The radio cut out from the range between him and the centre of Gotham, but Bruce could not have missed the last word even if he tried.

 

Bruce had never driven faster, not thinking, not stopping for lights- just repeating to himself, ‘Five Seab Street, five Seab Street, Five Seab Street…’ He ran a few quick calculations through his head. Four cops had been killed, which meant there was either a good deal of gang members, or very skilled marksmen. Lucius came in over his car phone as he entered Chelsea Hill.

 

“Bruce, I know where you’re heading. This is dangerous, there are too many of them. I’ve looked at CCTV in that area.”

 

“Sorry Lucius, this isn’t optional.”

 

“Bruce, with all respect, this situation could play out to our advantage. If Joker is being held captive-”

 

“ _Please_ , Lucius. Trust me.”

 

“Right okay. Sir, I haven’t been able to get through to your radio-”

 

Bruce ended the call, and plunged the car into silence again, punctuated by the patter of rain on the windshield. The city whizzed by, the setting sun reflecting off the wet pavements, and Bruce tried not to think about the Joker being already dead when he arrived.

  


\---

  


As he pulled up a street away from the complex, the realisation hit him that he wasn’t wearing his suit, and that he only had the small emergency kit built into his car. Wiping his brow, he pressed the release on the compartment and took out the black balaclava, pulled it on, and tucked his Beretta Nano into his waistband. Lastly, he filled his left pocket with blanks and the right with live rounds, took off his jacket and pulled the backpack filled with other gadgets onto his back.

 

With horrifyingly little care for his own safety, Bruce skirted out of the eyesight of the two watchmen at the front of the warehouse, and spotted two snipers on surrounding rooftops glinting in the sun. A few men were busy dragging the bodies of cops into an alleyway. Bruce hurriedly decided to look for an alternate entrance. He had to find the Joker, _whatever it took_. Just when he thought he had flown under the radar, a dog began barking from nearby and Bruce heard footsteps and shouting. He panicked, ran, and then someone shot him.

 

The pain didn’t hit at first, and then intense burning pain shot across his back. He staggered, almost unfazed, so desperate to get to his goal. And then he remembered, thank god he had worn a bulletproof vest, but it was thin and hadn’t stopped the pain, and tears threatened to sting his eyes. He dived into a small alley and shakily took out his gun. Looking at it for a second, feeling the weight of it in his hands, he loaded it with bullets from his right pocket. He knew what to do, he’d done it before, but it never felt good. But that old wound wasn’t as bad as the one currently opening in his head. Whatever it took.. _Whatever it took.._

 

He dived out of the alley and took out the three men running towards him. His shot was stellar, clearing the first two in the chest and the third in the head. The man’s brain matter flew out and hit the floor before his body did. Bruce didn’t wince, and pressed on, the urge to end this whole situation growing stronger with every step. There was nothing in the world now, only the all-consuming thought of the man that had stolen his mind, who lay, probably dead, somewhere in this grimy industrial complex. Whoever thought it was a good idea to do his job and fuck with the most notorious criminal in Gotham was about to have a bad day.

 

Bruce pressed on, jaws tightly clenched, not allowing himself to feel as he mowed down a further dozen men. He was inside the building now, and he reloaded his clip in the dark hallway. People were shouting and moving somewhere below him. In the darkness he found an industrial elevator and climbed inside. The elevator shuddered as it traveled down, and rumbled to a halt just as the floor below came into view through the bars. Bruce cursed it, and forced the doors open, climbing down into a damp smelling basement. The voices were much closer now, all sounds from outside were completely silenced, and Bruce’s heartbeat was so loud it threatened to give him away.

 

A few metres away was a small door slightly ajar, with only the cool gleam from a flickering strip light visible. Bruce shuffled closer, taking off his stuffy balaclava. Whoever was in this room wouldn’t live long enough to give away his identity, and if he was the one to die there, then it wouldn’t matter anyway. Before he could peek in he heard two men talking.

 

“What did you do with Voss?!” The man seemed like he’d run out of patience. “I’m only going to repeat this one more time. If I don’t get that ninety-K in bearer bonds back in full to Falcone, it’s my head on the chopping block. Understand, you fucking mentalist?”

 

Bruce listened intently, and then a voice chimed in that made his whole body freeze.

 

“Ha.. _ha_. Carl Voss had no manners either. So ugly, don’t you think? When people have.. No manners.” Joseph Kerr drank in a long audible breath, and Bruce sank down the wall a little. “If you kill me, you’ll never find them. Try being a little more .. Polite. Heheh, hah, hoo-” There was a wet crunching sound as he was punched. The Joker groaned, long and languid. Bruce couldn’t take it any longer.

 

Bruce burst into the room, targeting the two men stood over the Joker before they could properly turn and draw their guns, shooting them point blank in quick succession. Below them with an innocent look of surprise sat the Joker. Bruce let out the breath that he’d been keeping in for what seemed like an eternity.

 

Kerr was tied to the chair, a rope around his neck bringing his folded arms high up his back. He’d been stripped down to only a pair of striped boxers and a bloodstained shirt. His face was a mess, with blood running from a broken nose, a split lip and a black eye already showing signs of development. The look of surprise on his face had turned to a curious smile.

 

“Right on time, Bats.”

 

“How were you planning on getting out of this one?”

 

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m a little caught up here. I.. took care of someone who needed to learn a lesson. Turns out he owed some _cashhh_ to some other chump. It’s all very complicated, and I’m just over here being little old me!” Joker licked his split lip, breath hitching as he caught the cut. “And then you turned up.”

 

Bruce didn't even ask about the events a few weeks prior, it doesn't even occur, he circled the man tied to the chair slowly, and Joker strained to keep his eyes on him, eyes open wide with intent. They were two different men here, living different lives in the shadows. The remnants of face paint sunk into the fine lines of Joker’s face.

 

“The cops could be back at any moment.” Bruce stopped dead in front of Joker.

 

“They could.” The Joker’s smile faded, and he looked up at Bruce with something else in his eyes, a  moment of sobriety in the fog. The room seemed to rotate, spinning around the Joker’s glare. And then a smile broke through. The Joker tipped his head back and eyed Bruce sleazily.

 

Bruce retaliated, inching closer and dragging a finger slowly down the Joker’s face, picking up some of the white paint. Kerr strained against the ropes, opening his mouth slightly. Bruce let his finger trail a path down the other’s neck, over the ropes digging into his skin and onto a bare collarbone. With a smile of his own Bruce tore the Joker’s shirt open roughly, causing the man under him to inhale, pale chest rising and almost glowing in the harsh cold light.

 

"Does it turn you on, Joseph, being tied up?" Bruce’s voice was deep and rumbling, causing goosebumps to rise across Jokers skin.

 

"Does it _turn you on_ , Batsss.. Having control?"

 

"You wouldn't say that if you didn't want me to."

 

Joker laughed, the motion making him shudder, but his eyes never lost contact with Bruce’s, dangerous and challenging.

 

Bruce kicked the chair over violently, he'd never once felt this alive in his life, the Joker was the perfect poison and antidote, and Bruce was desperately addicted to it. Joker’s body hit the floor with a smack. the man groaned, then began to cackle again deliriously.

 

"Face to face, or doggy style? You choose, I'm a little.. _hah_... stuck for choice. Mmmhahah, hehehe!"

 

Bruce didn't know if he was breathing properly, his hard-on pressing painfully against his trousers. He threw his backpack down as the Joker continued to laugh and took a knife out. Upon seeing it, Joker became quiet, still grinning, eyes wide. Bruce leant down and cut the ropes around the Joker’s ankles, and watched as the Joker haphazardly managed to sit up in a kneeling position.

 

Bruce surveyed the scene before him, consuming it like something delicious and forbidden. The Joker’s mouth was open slack now, his chest rising and falling slowly. A thin line of hair caught Bruce’s attention, travelling from his navel all the way down and disappearing under the waistband of his underwear, until Bruce’s eyes rested on the outline of his cock throbbing and tented in his boxers. Joker could run now, if he wanted to. It’d be dangerous, but any sane man would take that opportunity. Unlike any sane man- Joseph shuffled closer, keeping eye contact with the man above him until he was a few inches away from Bruce’s fly. Then his gaze fell, and he let his tongue lick the swollen bulge in Bruce’s trousers.

 

“ _Aahhh-_ ” Bruce tried not to moan, but it was impossible, and he brought a hand to rest on the Joker’s head. Next, he unzipped his trousers and unbuttoned his underwear, letting his cock spring free, thick and heavy and already leaking precome.

 

“My my, Brucie. It's all I've ever wanted.”

 

Bruce gritted his teeth and pulled on the rope around the Joker’s neck. He wormed a finger underneath to make it tighter. Joker let out a small noise. Bruce’s mouth twitched into a smile as he pulled the rope tighter. Joker struggled to force in a pained breath and Bruce thrusted his cock past the Joker’s blood slick lips and deep into his throat. Joker moaned and closed his eyes in ecstasy. Bruce let go of the rope for a moment to let Joker bury his head into the other man's crotch, whining as he pushed to get as much of Bruce’s cock into his mouth as possible and then drawing back, leaving a stripe of blood in his wake. Bruce felt weak at the knees.

 

"Suck."

 

Joker’s eyes flicked back to Bruce’s, and he sank his head back down, sucking blissfully. He managed a few more bobs of his head before Bruce gripped into the rope again, causing it to constrict and choke the Joker. Seeing the Joker’s eye’s roll back in a mixture of pain and elation drove Bruce wild, and he began to fuck the Joker’s throat roughly, allowing the man below him small moments to catch his breath before squeezing his neck again. When the Joker seemed to reach his limit, gagging and coughing and involving a sharp set of teeth a little too much- Bruce dragged him off his cock by his hair and threw him back on the ground.

 

The Joker spit out a mouthful of bubbling saliva, “There's nothing you can do to me Bruce Wayne, _nothing_! So pent up.. So much rage! It’s driving you insane!” He howled in laughter.

 

Bruce was about to retort in anger when they were suddenly interrupted by his police radio.

 

"..ETA nine minutes and counting, we’re going back in, repeat- we are going back in."

 

Bruce panicked and quickly stuffed himself back into his trousers, reloading his gun for what he hoped was the last time.

 

"Are you going to untie me, or shall I lie here and let them find me in my underwear?" Joker looked up from the floor, blood and spit now coating his chin.

 

Bruce snarled, hesitating, then leaned down to cut him free from the rope. Once freed, Kerr stood up, stretched his arms and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Bruce looked away, disgusted with himself.

 

“What now?” Bruce asked, tentative.

 

“Every man for himself, as they say.” Joker gave his last smile.

 

“Where will you go?”

 

“Don’t worry Bats, I’ll signal when I need you.” He wiggled his fingers mockingly.

  
“Hang on, take this-” Bruce reached for one of his cards with his private phone number on it. When he turned to give it to the Joker, he was greeted with an empty room. His heart sunk.


End file.
